


Matching Pieces (Take Them Off)

by deerna



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Bottom Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Dress Up, Established Relationship, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Scent Kink, Top Jaskier | Dandelion, naked bottom clothed top
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-11
Updated: 2020-08-11
Packaged: 2021-03-05 18:53:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25850125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deerna/pseuds/deerna
Summary: Putting Geralt in very nice clothes and then peeling him out of them again might be Jaskier's new favorite activity.The waistcoat was eventually discarded and thrown on top of the jacket. Next were the pants; Jaskier insisted on taking them off himself, while kneeling on the floor, rubbing his cheek against Geralt’s clothed erection, and not before having traced the embroidered leaves with his mouth. Geralt cursed as Jaskier unlaced them with nimble fingers and slid them off his legs along the braies.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 28
Kudos: 235
Collections: Season of Kink





	Matching Pieces (Take Them Off)

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt "dress up" on my season of kink bingo card!
> 
> Special thanks to Bernadette Banner who made [this video](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=825DufLvS-o) and gave me the idea of putting gussets in Geralt's doublets so he can raise his arms without splitting the seams, and also apologies to Bernadette Banner because none of the clothes I put Geralt in are historically accurate. Besides _maybe_ the braies--but I'm pretty sure linen underwear wasn't a thing until much later. Oh well.
> 
> I hope you enjoy this silly little thing!

“There will be no ‘sad silk trader’ comments this time,” Jaskier promised, pulling a package out of his bag. “No ill-fitting doublets and no second-hand shirts. I had this made especially for the occasion on your measurements—you’ll have people falling over themselves to ask you who’s your tailor!”

Geralt sat on the bed and started to remove his boots so he didn’t have to look as Jaskier puttered around. “You know I don’t actually care, right?” he muttered. “There was absolutely no need to—”

“Nonsense. You deserve nice things and you’ll look _very_ nice in this.”

The paper crinkled and Geralt swallowed his discomfort. After spending so many years around the bard, he’d gotten used to the way Jaskier sometimes overspent on useless endeavours—but he still felt uncomfortable when Jaskier spent money on _him_. Even if the bard insisted that he could afford that kind of luxury in the first place only because of Geralt, he still felt like it was a waste.

“Besides, this is the Academy’s ball, my dear, and you’re coming as my plus one. You may not care about the clothes you put on that incredible body of yours, but I guarantee you that everyone else will, so. Just think of it as part of the equipment for the job, if it makes you feel better about the expenses. You don’t usually complain when you blow a day's worth of pay on mandrake liquor for your potions, do you?”

Geralt frowned and opened his mouth to protest, but was silenced by Jaskier walking right between his spread legs and leaning over to give him a quick kiss. “Now, take everything off,” the bard said, looking down at him with a playful and fond smirk on his mouth. “I want to make sure that it fits.

“Will there be time to make adjustments? The ball is in two days,” Geralt murmured, distractedly stroking a hand up the back of Jaskier’s thigh. He liked the texture of the outfit he was wearing, smooth but sturdy enough to withstand travel.

Jaskier caught his hand and huffed a laughter. “Sure, if we manage to get you to try it on. The tailor is an old friend of mine, he will make time for it,” he reassured him.

He sat on the bed next to Geralt with his legs crossed, enjoying the show as he finally started unbuckling and pulling off the chest piece of his armour and the gambeson underneath. Jaskier’s gaze was like a brand, as he slipped the trousers down his legs and the shirt over his head.

“Take off _everything_ , sweetheart. I got you some new underwear as well,” Jaskier insisted, pulling at the braies that were half-bunched at his waist.

Geralt snorted and lay down, stretching on his back, lifting his hips invitingly. “Wanna do the honours?”

The bard didn’t hesitate to pull them off and Geralt smiled up at him. He could hear the stutter in the bard’s breath, could see the way his eyes darkened.

“See something you like?”

“You always make it so hard to cover all this up.” Jaskier sighed. “But alas, you’re not getting out of it. The outfit I picked for you—I really look forward to seeing you in it.” He ran a hand down Geralt’s stomach, over his hip, on his thigh. “But even more, I look forward to peeling it off you, in fact, which requires you to put it on first, so—”

He got back to the paper parcel, and the first thing that came out was a pair of very normal-looking white braies. They were a little tighter than the kind Geralt usually wore under the leather, and the linen was somehow softer and thinner. They were also longer, and came down to his calf, so light he could barely feel them.

“Comfy?” Jaskier smiled and handed him a bundle of dark fabric next, without really waiting for an answer.

It unfolded in Geralt’s hand to reveal itself as a pair of trousers. He marvelled at the colour for a moment — blue, but as dark as his black-brown witcher gear — before pulling them on; they were quite tight but not uncomfortable, and very plain for Jaskier’s standards. The only decoration was a tangle of jagged leaves embroidered in dark green along the lacing, so hard to see that the only way for anyone to notice would’ve been to put their face very close to his crotch.

When Jaskier caught him tracing the embroidery with his fingers, his smile turned wolfish. “I know what you’re thinking—isn’t the _horniest_ detail you’ve ever seen on a piece of clothing? I just couldn’t resist. I can’t stop thinking about it.”

“I was actually wondering how they managed to keep this blue so vibrant while making it so dark. Maybe magic is involved—it has to be very expensive.”

“Stop thinking about money,” the bard huffed, and fished another garment from the bundle, this time a shirt in such a pale grey that it looked white. It was soft and airy like silk, but a careful sniff told Geralt that it was extraordinarily thin cotton. Delicate lace lined the wrists and around the neck. It was half-unbuttoned already so he just pulled it over his head.

Jaskier sighed happily, leaning over with a hand over his cheek. “You look like a wet dream out of a book. Those tight pants with that loose, unbuttoned shirt—but alas, it needs to be buttoned all the way for this to work.” He did up the rest of the tiny mother of pearl buttons himself. “Are you ready for the next bit? This is where it gets really exciting.”

“You’ve been finding _all of this_ very exciting,” Geralt rumbled, putting his hands on the bard’s waist to cradle him closer. “I can smell you.”

“Well—” Jaskier coughed. “I like putting attractive witchers in fancy attires almost as much as I love undressing them. Is it a crime? Because if it is, I’ll be happy to walk to the gallows any day—”

“I wasn’t complaining. It’s rather hard to focus, that’s all.” He wasn’t aroused to the point of physically showing it, but there was a familiar simmering under his skin. The longer this dragged out, the louder it would sing in his blood, but he could wait.

“Well, we’re almost done, we’re at the second to last piece. This is—”

“A corset?” Geralt frowned, eyeing the unfamiliar garment in Jaskier’s hands.

“No. It’s a laced waistcoat with boning in the body.”

“And a busk in the front. So, a corset.”

“Oh, hush. I promise it’s comfortable, it’s like wearing a jerkin, except it’s fabric instead of leather. I’ve worn such things before—when I still liked to pretend I have a defined waistline. Raise your arms, I’ll help you.”

Geralt obeyed and raised his arms to slide them in the armholes, letting Jaskier fasten the busK at the front and tighten the laces at the back. It felt a little strange at first, but it wasn’t any more discomforting than wearing layers and layers of leather and metal around his chest.

“I told you,” Jaskier boasted from behind him. “Comfortable.” He gently swiped Geralt’s hair away from his neck and pressed a kiss right there at the nape, his hands circling his waist. Geralt suppressed a shiver. “Do you like the decoration?”

The waistcoat had the same colours as the pants — barely visible dark green on dark blue — but it was entirely covered in embroidered with the leaves, with additional tiny buds in dark gold. A single flower bloomed on his lapel.

“Buttercups,” Geralt realised, touching it with careful fingers. He was _absolutely covered_ in buttercups. His throat felt tight.

Jaskier coughed. “Yes, well. I couldn’t resist, as I said. I’ll get you the last piece—”

“A doublet?” Geralt guessed, resigned.

“A jacket,” Jaskier corrected him. “Designed to be left unfastened, so you don’t look awfully inappropriate when you start unbuttoning things in the middle of the first course,” Jaskier said, sounding exasperated, handing it to him. “This is why the waistcoat is a thing. You won’t be able to undo the busk by yourself.”

Geralt smirked and slipped it on. “You know me so well.” The jacket — which was basically a looser doublet, really, no matter what Jaskier said — matched the trousers, dark blue with only a lone row of buttercup leaves around the neck and flower-shaped golden buttons.

“You look absolutely stunning, your eyes against that blue are _mesmerising_. I almost picked a royal purple ensemble but it wasn’t as dark and I didn’t know how you liked colour—here, last touch: boots. Come to the mirror, look at yourself…”

Despite everything, Geralt noted that he didn’t look much different. The outfit was as layered as his usual armour was, and the elaborate embroidery on the waistcoat was mostly hidden by the jacket. He didn’t like that his eyes did look more prominent than usual — but Jaskier liked it, so that was fine.

He turned around, bending his toes and his knees and his arms and generally testing his mobility; he knew he wasn’t going to have his swords at the ball, but he liked to know how far he could raise his arms before—

Geralt blinked.

He looked at Jaskier in the mirror and saw him hide a smile behind a hand. “I was wondering when you were going to realise that.”

“I can raise my arms. All the way. I could—” Geralt reached over his shoulder, pretending to unsheathe a sword that wasn’t strapped to his back. “What. How…?”

“More room in the armpit,” Jaskier revealed. “You won’t rip this one in a scuffle. Oh, also—I can’t let you bring your swords to a ball, but there’s an extra pocket inside the jacket that can fit a knife, and I’m pretty sure your boots are tall enough for another couple of daggers.”

Geralt spent a minute just breathing. Then he pulled off the jacket and folded it on the nearest chair. “Help me with the waistcoat,” he huffed, reaching blindly behind his back. “I need it off. Now.”

“Is it too tight?” Jaskier asked, suddenly alarmed, pulling frantically at the corseted back of the waistcoat. “Are you—?”

“I’m fine, but I’m not going to fuck you with this damn thing on,” Geralt replied, matter of factly. “I need you inside me. _Now_.”

A panicked laughter bloomed from Jaskier’s chest. “You _dickhead,_ you scared me!”

The waistcoat was eventually discarded and thrown on top of the jacket. Next were the pants; Jaskier insisted on taking them off himself, while kneeling on the floor, rubbing his cheek against Geralt’s clothed erection, and not before having traced the embroidered leaves with his mouth. Geralt cursed as Jaskier unlaced them with nimble fingers and slid them off his legs along with he braies.

They fell on the bed in a tangle of limbs. Jaskier rubbed at Geralt’s chest through the thin, soft shirt while Geralt pulled at his doublet, whining and hissing rude words.

“Does it feel good?” Jaskier teased him, unhurriedly unbuttoning the shirt and caressing over Geralt’s nipples with his thumbs.

“Please,” Geralt gasped, hands tangling in the fabric that still covered Jaskier’s body, looking for an opening, looking for skin. He bucked his hips, looking for friction, groaning at the feeling of his dick rubbing against cloth.

“Shh, you’re okay,” Jaskier soothed him, finally pushing the last garment off his shoulders and putting it aside. A quick rustling, and his hands were back on Geralt’s skin, oily and greasy but warm. “I’m here.”

The scent of the bard’s arousal was so strong Geralt felt drunk off it. “Turn around, my dear,” Jaskier murmured. “I’m not going to last long.”

Geralt went on his knees, cheek smushed on the rumpled bedding. His breath stuttered when he felt Jaskier’s wet tip rubbing against the crease of his ass; he couldn’t help the sigh, the way his body relaxed when finally the bard pushed in.

There was something about being completely naked with Jaskier fully clothed on top of him that made Geralt hungry and desperate. The simmer under his skin had reached boiling point some moment earlier and he was utterly speechless and incoherent. The only things that made sense were Jaskier’s wet mouth against his shoulder, pressing kisses and unintelligible words in the scarred skin there, his hand wrapped around his dick and the pressure inside.

He was so out of it he didn’t feel the bard come after just a few stuttering thrusts. “Fuck,” Jaskier murmured, apologetic and slurred, the hand on Geralt’s cock moving more quickly. “I’m sorry love, I just—you looked so good, I love you—”

Geralt came with a gasp and collapsed on the mattress, rolling over to pull the bard down for a kiss. His shirt and doublet smelled soaked through with sweat, and he nosed down the collar chasing the scent even as his fingers made rough work of the buttons. He probably would’ve been ready to go again in ten minutes or so, but all he wanted right then was being surrounded by their mixed smell.

“Does this mean I’m allowed to put you in fancy clothing from time to time?” Jaskier murmured, running his fingers through Geralt’s tangled hair.

“As long as I can fight in it,” Geralt agreed.

“Mmm. I think I might have found a new hobby.”

**Author's Note:**

> Find me everywhere else as @somewhatclear.


End file.
